


You Can Run Away With Me (Any Time You Want)

by dancinbutterfly



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Assassin!Billy, Brothels, Canon PTSD, Consent Issues, Crew as Family, Crush at First Sight, Decapitation, Escape, Eventual Happy Ending, Everyone has a different origin because its the 1600s, Falling In Love, French!Goodnight, Friendship/Love, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Indentured Servitude, Kidnapping, Kissing, Kneeling, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Murder, Older!Bogue, Organized Crime, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Period-Typical Sexism, Period-Typical Underage, Pirate-Era Politics, Pirates, Prostitute!Goodnight, Recreational Drug Use, Related to prostitution, Revenge, Running Away, Sailing, Service Submission, Sexual Slavery, Smoking, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8920441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/pseuds/dancinbutterfly
Summary: Bogue's criminal empire of whorehouses, weapons, drugs and fear is the power behind the governors of the Caribbean during the golden age of buccaneering, where Billy Rocks is the best assassin money can buy. Billy does his job well and without fuss. When he offers Billy a reward for his service, things get complicated.





	1. I'm not much a poet, but a criminal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistMarauder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistMarauder/gifts), [VillaKulla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillaKulla/gifts), [Hazel_Athena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazel_Athena/gifts).



> For MistMaurauder, VillaKulla, and Hazel_Athena who encouraged, brainstormed with, and listened to me. 
> 
> And for Nita. Who keeps me afloat.
> 
>  **Warnings in the tags.** Heed the warnings. Heed them. I'm not playing. While none of them are on screen, they will be discussed before the fic is over. If you have questions - feel free to hit me up on tumblr.

Bogus is grinning, and it’s a slimy thing, like all of Bogue is slimy. He keeps beaming lovingly down into the box Billy gave him, like there’s a puppy inside instead of a human head. At this point, Billy is waiting for him to reach in and pet the dead man’s hair.

“You’ve done well, Mr. Rocks.”

He doesn’t say thank you. He does not want to thank Bartholomew Bogue for anything. He just inclines his head because he knows he did well. He’s the best. This had been a harder assignment.

Tracking the man Bogue wanted executed down took longer than expected and when Billy finally found him, he had to contend with the man’s matelot as well. It had been unfortunate as he never liked being forced to kill outside his contract, especially not when the only reason it was necessary was devotional connection to the contract. 

Then there was the matter of separating a head from a body which was not an easy thing to do, not even when blades are a man’s life, but he’d done it. Then he had to convince a captain to transport him back to Tortuga with the damn rotting thing in tow. Now he wanted to get his money, expenses and all, and leave this man and his disgusting empire of flesh and drugs and cards behind. 

“I feel I owe you a debt for this.”

“We agreed on a price,” Billy says firmly. “That price hasn’t changed since we met here last.”

“Of course, of course,” He waves a dismissive hand in the direction of the wall and a man appears from the shadows. “Mr. Denali if you could please collect Mr. Rocks’ payment? Thank you.” He turns his attention back to Billy and smiles that slimy smile. “No, I was referring to something a little more…tangible.”

“Money’s plenty tangible, Mr. Bogue.”

“But not very exciting and a man like you could use a different kind of excitement than gore every now and then.” Billy opens his mouth to protest but Bogue holds up a hand. He has rings on that probably cost more money than Billy ever seen in his whole life. “No. I insist. Stay at my humble establishment, just for tonight. You turned me down last time. You don’t want to insult me do you?”

Billy knows enough to know that is as much a threat as it is an invitation, more probably. He’s being tested. What he does here is going to determine if he walks out of this cesspit alive. He’s a valuable tool to men like Bogue but a dangerous one. Men often feel the need to master what they consider to be dangerous and Bogue has enough men in his employ to force his point if Billy doesn’t concede on his own.

He gives a small nod.

“I’d appreciate the hospitality.”

“Excellent. Mr. Denali will give you your pay and point you on your way to your room.” As if he timed it, Denali returns with a thick envelope. He hands it to Bogue who passes it over across to Billy. He tucks it into his jacket's inner pocket without counting it. He knows it’s all there. Mr. Bogue is many things but he’s not a cheat. It’s one of the only reasons he took this job in the first place. Do you have any bags?” 

“No.” He does, but they’re not here. They’re at the inn he’s actually staying at, where he’s booked and paid up for the next two nights. He is not fucking stupid. He wouldn’t bring anything he owns but his weapons into a Bogue brothel, especially not the Blackstone, the jewel of Bogue’s tropical kingdom.

“McCann, see to it that Mr. Rocks here has a good night, if you please.”

“Yes, Mr. Bogue,” says another man who emerges from the shadows. He’s tall and white, unlike Denali who is a native of some kind. He smirks at Billy for a long moment then saunters away, chuckling to himself. 

“Mr. Denali, if you please?” Bogus asks in that same slow drawl and Denali nods. He jerks his chin at Billy who rises to his feet to follow. Denali leads him through the fine furnishings of the darkened brothel house and comes to a stop at the bottom of a grand staircase.

“You’re not going to escort me up?” 

Denali doesn’t even blink. “It’ll be the last door on the right.”

Billy’ raises an eyebrow. “Oh will it?”

“Yes. It will.” Denali folds his arms over his chest and smirks. “You have a good night, Mr. Rocks.” Without another word, he turns and walks back to Bogue, leaving Billy alone at the bottom of the stairs feeling thoroughly unnerved.

“Right,” Billy mumbles. “All right, then.”

He takes the stairs two at a time, ready to be done. He’s tired. Chasing down and taking apart Bogue’s target had not only taken longer than expected, it had required care and effort he didn’t usually have to expend on a job. He wants to sleep and if he can get through whatever bullshit Bogue is putting him through, then he can.

The hallway is long, longer than it looks like it should be from the look of the house from the outside. When he finally gets there, a frisson of nerves spike up his back as he touches the doorknob because this could be a trap. He pulls his favorite knife from it’s sheath and palms it in his right hand, awkwardly opening the door with his left.

There’s a lamp on low when he opens the door and a figure in the corner. It turns too quickly and he lets his knife fly. The blade makes contact with fabric, as he intended, ripping through what seems to be a silk robe wrapped around a lean frame. It pins the fabric to the wall and makes the man inside it, and it is definitely a man, gasp. 

“Well, damn,” the man gasps, laughing a little. “I must say that is not how I am usually greeted by a gentleman caller.”

Billy already has his second knife drawn and ready to throw before he really processes what he’s looking at. It is a man, yes, but not a man like McCann, or Denali, or even Bogue. He is not even like the boys downstairs, the boys barely past youth who serve drinks and occasionally disappear with clients they ply with smiles too quick to be real and the older ones who wear women’s clothes to make less typical tastes acceptable on the main floor.

He is handsome, slim but solid and smooth-faced, giving him a youthful appearance though he is not young. Billy would guess that they are of the same age, even if the man has used kohl to paint his eyes and a stain to make his lips redder. 

The robe around his body is a white that is nearly sheer with bright gold and red embroidery of a flower and a bird on it that are distinctly Occidental in nature, enough that they remind him a little of his childhood although it is obviously not Korean. It is authentic but from China, or perhaps Bogue has connections with Japan through the Dutch. His reach extends far after all, and it would not be surprising for a man who known by all to be the true power behind the governor here in Hispaniola. Wherever it came from, the garment has been obviously shortened so that it cuts off well above the knee, so high as to be next to worthless.

Billy knows what this man is.

Of course, Billy would know what this man is from the set of his body even without the fancy dressings of silk and makeup. Blackstone is the best whorehouse in the Caribbean, perhaps the best whorehouse in all of the American colonies and what is a courtesan if not the best of all whores? 

“My apologies.”

The man smiles and reaches behind him without looking and pulls the knife out of the wall with a single tug. He glances down at it, makes a small humming sound in consideration before turning it over in his hands so that he is holding it out to Billy by the blade, handle first. “I believe this is yours, Mr. Rocks. I wouldn’t want you to lose such a fine weapon on such an unimpressive cause as the threat of my attire.” 

When he moves, the robe slips off his shoulders, exposing skin so pale it almost hurts to look at it. It does hurt to look at it, because even from across the room, Billy can see where one shoulder is peppered with a faded constellation of burn scars that can only have come from the butt of a neatly rolled cigarette. He’d seen them before, on the bodies of slaves, on the arms of children with fathers who should never have been allowed to breed, on the backs of girls in opium dens with dead eyes and hopeless voices. 

He drags his eyes back to the man’s face and finds light there. Alert eyes are glittering and amused and all too aware of him, of what he can do, of what he can see. 

No one Billy has encountered would respond warmly to being attacked on first meeting. It is deeply unsettling. However, all he does is take his knife back carefully and resheath it with a nod. 

“The strong, silent type, I see. I supposed as much. No matter. I can carry the conversation for both of us.” The man presses a hand to his chest. “I am Goodnight and I am at your service and your disposal.”

Billy blinks. “Goodnight?”

“Unless you’d prefer to call me something else. I’m very open to suggestion.”

“No, I-“ He stops. He doesn’t know if there is any right way to explain to someone that they’ve been given to you as a gift, that they have been commodified to the point of something that can be exchanged without their name ever entering the conversation as more than an inside joke, especially not when chances are they already know. “Nothing. It’s an interesting name.”

“I like to think I live up to it,” Goodnight says with another smile, this one teasing and a little lazy. “Why don’t we have a drink?” He gestures grandly at the bed, a monster of a four poster of dark wood with a thick mattress nicer than any Billy has ever seen in his life. “You can make yourself comfortable.”

The linens are dyed a dark blue, like the Pacific weeks from land. It’s the kind of ridiculous extravagance that sets the Blackstone apart from any of the other brothels west of the fine houses on the Continent. Billy imagines all that pale skin contrasts nicely against it and the fact that he wants to see it, almost desperately, makes him want to laugh. There is nothing comfortable about this situation. 

“I think I’ll stand, thank you.”

“Ah. The type of man who prefers to keep a level head, I see.”

“The type of man who doesn’t like to be paid for his service in service,” Billy snaps back before he can help himself. He doesn’t give into those impulses usually. Even keeled and stone faced, that’s Billy Rocks. In one conversation, he’s come unmoored.

At that, Goodnight throws his head back and laughs. He laughs so loud that Billy actually looks around to see if anyone heard and has come to check on them. No one does. The door is closed and the room is dim and otherwise quiet. 

Goodnight is standing there, smiling and shaking his head. “And direct too. You are something else, aren’t you?”

“That I’ve heard before.” Something else is usually a comment on his breeding or his killing. It’s rarely been a remark on his nature.

“I would imagine you have. Please. At least take off your shoes and have a seat.” He gestures expansively to a high backed chair that sits by a fireplace with a low burning fire. “It’s late and the room is warm. I don’t suppose you do have many chances to rest in a comfortable place often with the type of work you do.”

And Billy is tempted. He is sorely tempted but chances are, this is what Bogue wants. Billy is not known for frequenting brothels, has in fact never been the patron of a bawd and chances are, Bogue knows this. Trying to tempt him with something other than a painted woman is a brilliant move from a man who has used his cunning to take over an entire island from Europe without them ever noticing. 

“Oh, go on. I only bite if you ask, cher,” Goodnight teases. 

That startles a laugh out of Billy. It catches him so far off guard that he finds himself bending over to take off his boots. 

Before he can, though, Goodnight is in front of him, smiling and holding out a hand. “Allow me.” 

He nods and watches, stunned, as Goodnight sinks to his knees. A part of him expects the man to unlace his trews but he doesn’t. Instead, he carefully undoes first one boot, then carefully slides it off before picking it up Billy’s foot and removing his stocking. He folds the thin strip of fabric and tucks it inside his boot. He repeats it with the other boot, puts them both neatly on the floor beneath the bed.

When he stands again, he takes Billy’s hand. Like a gentleman leading a lady to a dance. Billy feels heat rush to his face and hates that he’s been played. He jerks his face away. 

“That’s enough, thank you.”

“Why are you so defensive?” Goodnight asks, a confused expression wrinkling his face. “I’m here for you, Billy Rocks. What do you think I’m trying to do?”

“If I knew that, I don’t think you would be Mr. Bogue’s choice for me.”

Goodnight laughs at that. “Oh, is that what you think?” His smile seems sincere. He tilts his head and sighs. “I feel that perhaps we are at cross-purposes here.”

Billy lifts an eyebrow at that. “Are we?”

“Yes. You see, my employer likes this gambit. Throw one of his girls at a contractor, loosen his tongue, use the information for later. You, though, you haven’t touched any of the working girls in the Atlantic so far as anyone knows. It’s a bit infamous. He was considering giving you Anthony but I’ve been trying to keep that boy out of the business.” His lips thin at that. “I made quite the case that you would prefer my services instead. I noticed you when you first arrived, you see, and again when you returned to confirm the contract. You cut quite the figure and that little display with your knives?” He takes a deep breath in through his nose, like he was smelling a fine wine. “I watched you cut that dashing figure and exercise your impressive skills from a distance and I thought to myself, ‘Goodnight that is a man to befriend.’”

Billy wants to fold his arms over his chest, wants to snort, wants to roll his eyes. He settles for drumming his toes on the warm rug beneath his feet. “You don’t strike me as a man in need of friends.”

Goodnight does not stop himself from crossing his arms over his chest and huffing. “You’d be mistaken.” His eyes darken and Billy doesn’t think he is speaking simply about friendship.

“You asked Bogue to see me?”

Goodnight chuckles at that. “Well no. Asking Bogue directly is not the way to get what you want but yes. I did. When I saw you, I thought you were one of the most singularly beautiful and extraordinary people I have had the good fortune to encounter, albeit from afar and thus far you have lived up to my assessments.”

Billy swallows as discretely as he can because he cannot show weakness to this man, even if he is breaking down all his barriers one by one. “I won’t be telling you anything about me.”

“I haven’t asked.”

“I won’t answer if you do.”

“That’s all right.”

"You can't ask me about myself."

"I won't."

“I won’t come back.”

“I wouldn’t ask you.”

“I don’t trade service for service.”

“I asked to be here, Billy Rocks.”

“You don’t have a choice,” Billy gasped, drowning in the waves of Goodnight’s personality. “That’s not how these places work. I can’t.”

Goodnight’s smile gets sad then, so sad he might as well be crying. “You’re right about that. Someone will fuck me tonight. I’ll be on my knees or my back in one of these rooms. I have no say in that, not for a few more years but you?” He steps forward and places soft hands on Billy’s wrists before reaching up to tuck an errant lock of hair behind his ear. “I can choose you tonight. It’s a luxury I am rarely afforded. Let me have that. Don’t send me back out.”

“We could just- We could just sleep.” Billy offers, desperate.

Goodnight shakes his head. “No, cher. He’ll check.”

For a moment, Billy doesn’t understand and when he does, he is at once repulsed, horrified, and furious. “That fucking toad.“

“I like that. He is toadish isn’t he? Such sweet talk. You have me weak in the knees already, cher. ”

He likes when Goodnight calls him that. He’s never had a nickname that wasn’t a slur before and it makes his blood go hot.

“Tell me again,” he says. “Tell me again that you to do want this.”

“I want you,” Goodnight says enunciating every syllable clearly with his accent making it sound liquid. “Over the course of my life, I could count on both hands the number of people I truly wanted to touch me and still have a few fingers left over, mon couteau. But your hands?” He closes his eyes, looking for all the world like he was bracing against a wave. “Christ, cher, I want them everywhere.”

And that’s it. Billy’s strength has limits. He’s only human. 

“Fuck. God, fuck,” he curses before crossing the room and taking Goodnight's angular face in his palms. Goodnight is beaming at him when Billy crushes their mouths together and he can taste his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on the historical whys and wherefores:
> 
> So, this is set about 200 years before the movie in ~1680. I played fast and loose with the geography and politics of the golden age of piracy. The golden age debated a lot and it ranges from "THIS 8 YEAR PERIOD" to the larger group that says it was from from the mid/late 1600s to the early 1700s(Black sails is set in 1715 and that's really the death of piracy) and was in Hispaniola, Jamaica and the Bahamas. There's a lot of politics involving England, France and Spain floating around that allowed piracy to thrive, particularly involving the rules of treaties not applying around certain latitudinal lines. I set it in 1680ish because around this time pirate ships were 1)seriously interfering with the (newish) Triangle slave trade on the west coast of Africa and victims pirates freed from those ships sometimes joined the pirates which went along way to adding sailors of African descent into the pirate population and 2)going around the Cape of Good Hope at the bottom of Africa and fucking up the East India Company clippers in Asia - all of which are important factors which open the doors for Sam, Billy and Vasquez to be involved.
> 
> So yeah! Thats how we got here. Enjoy. 
> 
> The details on Goody will come later.  
> ~*~*~  
> Title is from the song Summertime by My Chemical Romance.
> 
> Chapter title is a lyric from Thank You for the Venom also by My Chemical Romance. If at all possible, all the chapter titles are going to fit that theme.  
> ~*~*~  
> If you liked it, please consider leaving a review or reblogging the story post [here on my tumblr](http://dancinbutterfly.tumblr.com/post/154713913220/you-can-run-away-with-me-any-time-you-want). You're always welcome to come talk to me there. I flail about fandom all the time. It's a good time.


	2. The Collision of Your Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodnight and Billy come together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I figured I could get this bit done and we could have some smut for new years.

Goodnight opens like a night blooming flower. His lips part, inviting Billy into his mouth like he’s invited him into his room and it feels amazing. It is warm and soft, so much softer than Billy was expecting. 

He’s been with his share of lovers. Not here in the Caribbean, where he is little more than a curiosity, but when he pulls into port in Singapore, Shanghai and, Hong Kong he has made time with others from this continent who share his tastes, although rarely has he come across another Korean in his travels and never on who shares his proclivities. In Bombay, Goa, Madras, and Manila, he has found East India Company men in taverns who have grown fond of dark faces and more angular eyes that meet his gaze for too long and are happy to join him in his room for a night, sometimes two and on a few rare occasions three. On particularly long sea voyages he has met sailors, especially pirates, ferrying him from place to place who aren’t the least bit shy about asking for or offering ass.

Being what the English would call a proper sodomite, he has tasted them all. Most of the time he’s enjoyed it. 

Goodnight is like none of them. 

Goodnight is hungry. Goodnight slides his hands up Billy’s arms and into his hair. He doesn’t tug it free of the hairpin he use it, just digs his fingers into it like all he wants to do is feel. Maybe he does. Maybe he’s been honest this whole time. 

Fuck, maybe he has been. Billy has to decide if he’s going to believe this man with his delicious mouth and his burning body or not. And so he does. He’s laid his boundaries and they’ve been agreed to so fuck it all. He’ll assume that what Goodnight does and says is truth until he is proven wrong. It might be the most dangerous choice of his life but it’s also the choice he wants to make. He’d rather regret doing it than regret not doing it. 

“What do you want?” Billy asks when they break to breathe.

Goodnight smiles at him. He has most of his teeth. One is chipped in the front and one appears to be missing a little ways back, likely from a blow, as all the rest are gleaming and clean. 

“I want you on top of me,” Goodnight declares punctuating it with a kiss. “I want your cock inside me.” Another kiss. “I want your mouth and fingers to leave marks on me so that I can’t forget and the next man to have me can’t ignore that you were here.”

Billy groans and kisses him again, so hard that he aches in his trousers. He rolls his hips forward, pressing his cock against Goodnight and is met by equal force of desire. They can’t do this standing. He doesn’t want to. He wants to see Goodnight on those dark sheets. 

“Get on the bed.”

“Put me there.”

Billy can’t help but laugh at the challenge and kisses Goodnight because he can’t resist. Then he reaches down, grabs him by the back of the thighs and hoists him up off the ground. He’s heavy as any full grown man would be but Billy is strong and the weight eases when those legs wrap around his waist.

Goodnight makes a sound Billy thinks is a laugh but its lost in their kiss. He plants his hands on Billy’s shoulders before pulling back breathless. “Now this is a hell of a view.”

“I can’t be the first man to pick you up.”

“Didn’t say you were. None of them ever gave me this view though.” He is grinning brightly, hard against Billy’s stomach. “It’s enough to make a fellow wish he had a talent with a brush.”

“You don’t?”

Goodnight hums a little and moves one hand to toy with the hair at the nape of Billy’s neck. “I’ve many talents, mon couteau. Visual art is not one of them.”

“What are those?”

“Once I’m on the bed I’ll show you one or two.”

With a playfulness he can’t remember ever feeling with a sex partner before, Billy motions for Goodnight to unlock his ankles and then bodily throws the man onto the mattress. He lands with a thump and a whoosh of air and a pleased chuckle. Once he’s landed though, Goodnight starts working his way up the bed, pulling at the belt of his robe, parting the center to reveal nothing but naked skin beneath. 

The sight makes Billy’s hands fumble on his own clothes. “You look like the beaches in the Cannibal Islands, sharp white against endless blue.”

Goodnight pushes up on his elbow and beams at him. “No one’s ever mentioned that you were a poet in the rumors about you, Mr. Rocks.”

Fully divested of his clothes now, Billy clambers onto the mattress. “It can be hard to fit everything it a few whispered words.”

“What a generous attitude.”

“Well,” Billy says crawling over the long body below him. “I’m a generous spirit.”

“Does that mean you’re going to quit talking and give it to me already?” Goodnight teases, drawing up his knees to so that Billy fit in their cradle, his cock coming to rest between soft, slick cheeks as their lips aligned. 

“Fuck. You’re ready.”

“Mmm,” Goodnight hums in agreement. “Open but not loose. So come on and fuck me, Billy Rocks.” He locks his ankles at the small of Billy’s back. “I’ve been very patient.”

Never one to make a lover beg, Billy puts his hands beside either side of Goodnight’s shoulders and thrusts in hard and slow. It draws a long moan out of his throat and into Billy’s mouth as he thrusts back. He’s hot inside, so hot, like the blast from opening the door of an oven only slick like silk. Billy can’t imagine what oil they must be using because no hole he’s ever fucked has been this slick, felt this good. Muscles he hadn’t used for anything but fighting came alive with pleasure for the first time in long months. All the while, Goodnight trembled beneath him, groaning and sobbing into kisses that seemed to both lead into each other and never end.

Then Goodnight laughs into his mouth, because Billy is learning that Goodnight is the kind of man who is full of laughter. It makes him shake and clench everywhere, including in his hole tight around Billy’s cock. He drops his head to moan against Goodnight’s neck.

“I knew it,” Goodnight gasps, fingers digging in hard. His eyes are shining and he gives as good as he’s getting. “I knew you’d feel good.”

“Glad to know I’m living up to your expectations.”

“You are at that. Oh, sweet leaping Jesus on the cross. There. Right there.” 

His fingernails bite but Billy likes the sting. It keeps him grounded because he could come unhinged and shoot in Goodnight’s body so easily. It’d be nothing. 

“Yeah. Just a little harder but slow down just a bit?”

“You could’ve picked someone else if you didn’t like speed,” Billy remarks, even as he obeys. 

Goodnights response is a chuckle that morphs into a long groan as Billy’s course correction meets it’s target. “But you’re not just fast are you, cher? You’re deliberate too.”

“Can be.” Billy concedes, not missing a stroke.

“Time and place for everything. This is- this is- oh fuck. Just fuck me like this, all right? Just don’t stop fucking me like this and I think we’ll be good.”

“Maybe this is better?” Billy offers, reaching back and hooking an arm under Goodnight’s knee and hoisting it up over his shoulder. The angle changes the way his cock fills the man’s hole and strokes over his sweet spot, makes him cry out and arch his long white neck against the ocean of the sheets. 

Billy wants to eat him alive. From the sounds Goodnight make when Billy puts his mouth on his jaw and neck and collarbone, he doesn’t see a reason to resist the impulse. 

“Jesus. oh, oh Jesus, fuck. Please. Don’t stop.”

“Not,” Billy promises against the hollow beneath Goodnight’s ear. “Not gonna.”

“Please,” he pants, sounding thin and truly desperate for the first time tonight. “Please, your hair- I want- Can you-?” He lets go of one of Billy’s shoulders and touches his temple then strokes up towards his bun. He doesn’t touch the hairpin there though. 

Billy stills his hips and looks down into Goodnight’s pleasure bright eyes. “What do you want?” He asks because has to hear Goodnight say it or he can’t do it. He’s had too many people ridicule his “odd” habits over the years. 

“It so gorgeous,” Goodnight drawls lazily, a continental accent curling his words and making the words round and rich. “I want to wrap it around my fingers, feel it on my lips.”

“How can I say no to that?”

Goodnight smiles up at him. “I imagine you can do anything you want, Mr. Rocks.”

“Billy,” he corrects. “I like the way you say my name.”

When Goodnight smiles this time, it’s soft and it makes creases appear around his eyes. “Billy.”

“Mmhm.” Then he reaches back with his right hand and pulls his hairpin free. He hurls it at the wall with more force that is strictly necessary and knows without looking that it has deepened the divit his first knife caused earlier when it trapped Goodnight’s fancy robe to the wood. 

Goodnight makes a delighted noise, glancing briefly at the accessory now ruining the decor and then digging his fingers into Billy’s hair. With careful enthusiasm, he pulls the twisted knot down so that his hair is loose and free and as promised, tangles the dark strands around his fingers. 

He doesn’t pull, or tug. Instead, he combs through it, dragging his fingernails along the scalp as he pushes them back from Billy’s face. 

The sensation sends frissons of pleasure sparking across his entire head then down his spine. Billy doesn’t know that he’s ever felt anything like it before. 

“You are so beautiful, mon rêve.” Goodnight sighs. He rolls his hips with a satisfied groan that Billy answers with a stuttered thrust of his own. “If I couldn’t feel you I’d think I made you up.”

Billy does his best to resettle himself on his elbows as his erection pushes at the bounds of his control. “You’re a sweet talker all right.”

“Move,” Goodnight pleads, his hand raking through Billy’s hair again. “Cher, please. Please move. I want to spend with you inside me. I can beg if you want.”

“You don’t need to, Goodnight. Not with me.”

“Goody.”

“What?” 

He lifts his head and presses a kiss to the corner of Billy’s mouth. “I didn’t pick Goodnight. Call me Goody.”

“Goody,” Billy repeats and it makes Goodnight let out a happy sigh. No. Not Goodnight. Goody. “Goody, you don’t need to beg.”

“Maybe I want to.”

Billy is the one who smiles this time. “Well, I think I want you to have what you want.”

“Say my name,” Goody says firmly. “Say my name and fuck me my full of your seed. That’s what I want. I want to taste you in my throat by the time you’re done with me.”

“Sweet talker,” Billy laughs but doesn’t hesitate, hoisting that pale leg up higher and thrusting in, sharp and severe so that beneath him, Goody arches and cries out, begging for more. 

In this moment, nothing exists beyond the mattress, the sheets, Goody’s body and his own. They are alone in a world but for each other. Like this, Billy has his knees under him and he can brace himself on one arm and reach between them to wrap his fist around Goody’s cock with the other.

He watches as Goody’s blue-grey eyes roll back in his head, his irises almost disappearing as his mouth drops open a little. His lashes flutter and his breath comes out in shallow little “ugh” noises like it’s being punched out of him.

“Can’t sweet talk me like this, can you, Goody? Just have to fall apart for me.”

“I-“ Goody chokes out but doesn’t manage anything else. He drags his hands through Billy’s hair again before wrapping both arms around his neck, fingers meeting on the flesh of opposite shoulders. He clings and hangs on like a sailor in a storm as Billy feels him shoot wet across his fist and shake in his arms, his hole spasming tight and out of control around his cock.

Billy chokes out a string of words in the language of his youth, curses that he knows Goody won’t understand, and pushes harder. He wants to wreck this man. He wants to dismantle him so that he can’t forget the way the pieces blew to bits. He forces himself to keep going, hang on until Goody is practically crying with overstimulation, his lovely neck thrown back like a formal invitation. Billy mouths skin that cannot be hidden with a cravat and sucks hard, bringing blood to just beneath the surface in a way that will purple darkly. 

Goody’s fingernails sting in his shoulders in response and he sobs out “Billy, fuck, you’ll kill me,” and that’s it. Billy is coming hard inside him, pressed deep, grinding his hips with every burst of pleasure that rocks through him. Goody groans and goes limp beneath him. When the tidal wave is over and only the aftershocks are left behind, Billy collapses on top of the strong body beneath him, dropping the long legs to his side. The long fingers return to his hair.

“That was…” Goody begins, then stops. “You know, I think I may be at a loss for words, mon couteau.” 

Billy huffs a chuckle into the space beneath Goody’s ear. “I don’t imagine that happens to you often.”

“No,” Goody agrees, hands still caressing his scalp like Billy is a cat to be petted. “Indeed it does not.” He lifts his head and looks down at Billy. “Do you need to be off, cher?”

“Is this you kicking me out?”

“Quite the opposite. I’m asking if you have somewhere you need to go or if you could stay the night, give me an excuse to stay with you instead of returning to work.”

Billy likes the idea of staying. He is loose and comfortable and Goody makes him feel…he’s not sure what. He just knows he’s not ready to let go of the feeling yet. 

“I could stay.”

“Then stay,” Goody says. He gives Billy a bright smile, his gold tooth flashing in the lamplight. “I’d enjoy the company.”

“All right then.” Billy nods. “I’ll stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have researched what kind of vegetable oils are good for fucking and then considered what would've been available in the Caribbean in the 1680s. Maybe. While it's not explicitly stated, Goody's using pure coconut oil, which is apparently super good lube. Don't look at me. 
> 
> Chapter Title is a lyric from Cemetery Drive by My Chemical Romance


	3. We Can Leave This World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was like pulling teeth in places. But. I did it. Thanks to the Mag7 Skype group. I love you ladies.

They eat the food that Goody apparently had tucked away on a corner table and then they fuck again. This time, Billy takes the time to open his lover first. He relishes the pleasure making Goody a writhing mess of abandon on just his fingers until the smells of coconuts and clean sweat and the sharp tang of Goody’s come mix in the air like perfume. 

Before he’s hard again, Goody climbs on top of Billy and rides his cock at his leisure. His speed seems to vary from the ferocious pace of man o’war slicing through rough seas and to a shallop bobbing beside a dock. From this angle, Billy can pluck with his nipples and slide his his fingers over his cock like Goody’s body is the strings on a gayageum. The noises he makes are, in better opinion, as beautiful as the music he remembers from home. 

He brings them to a stop when Goody tries to take him in his mouth after. It’s just not done. It’s the desperate act of a desperate soul and Billy will not see his lovely man shamed that way, not even if it is something Bogue makes him do for his other clients.

Goody, on the other hands, seems perturbed by his reluctance and makes to insist but Billy shakes his head and pulls him up to lie beside him. “I filled you twice, Goody. I’m spent. We could just rest awhile.” 

Goody considers him, peering at him from the odd perspective of his groin. “You worn out, cher?”

“A bit,” he deadpans. After a full day of his sort of profession and two rounds of what has been the best sex of his entire life, that’s one of the most ridiculous minimizations he’s ever made in a life of understatements. It makes Goody laugh, though, which means that it achieved it’s mission. “And I would rather like to hold you, if that’s all right with you.”

“More than all right.” He finds himself with his arms full of warm, naked man a heartbeat later. 

In his life, Billy has all of two partners that he would even remotely consider calling lovers. The first had been his teacher, the man who showed him how to kill cleanly and efficiently and to fuck the same way and the idea of embracing him had never crossed Billy’s mind. The other? Well, Sam Chisholm was had not been a man who particularly enjoyed being held, even if the impulse had crossed his mind a time or two on the long voyages around the Cape of Good Hope. 

Being in an embrace like this was new for him, newer than anything else Goody had given him tonight. His favorite too, if he was honest with himself as he felt Goody’s hair tickle his cheek.

“I must admit, I haven’t had an evening this lovely in…ever. Thank you, cher.” 

Billy huffs out a small laugh. “Pretty sure I should be thanking you. I was against this, remember?”

“I do. I set you to rights though.” Goody makes a pleased humming sound and presses a kiss to Billy’s collarbone. “I knew you would be good company.”

“You’ve said that. A few times, that you saw me.” Billy tilts his chin down, trying to get a good look at Goody. “When did that happen? You were a stranger.”

“And you make yourself known when you walk into a room,” Goody counters. “The whole island was talking about you and my business traffics in conversation. The great Billy Rocks. He can find anyone. He can track a man around the world and always gets his target. He can kill you with a hair pin. It was all the mollys could talk about because it was all the customers could talk about. You were more interesting than the latest privateering prize haul. Even the dumbest girl in the house knew Bogue would find an excuse to get you in here sometime.”

He smiles into Goody’s hair. He knows he has a reputation, better in some parts of the world than others, but in the Caribbean, he’s thought he was not as well known as on the African west coast and in India with those connected to the East India Company’s less than upfront business dealings. He can’t say he’s not pleased.

“How did I measure up?” 

That makes Goody shift so he’s pushed up on one arm, looking down at Billy. His hair is short, not a fashion that most white men seem to prefer, but he likes it. It makes his face look strong even when he’s smiling. 

“You outstripped even the wildest of expectations I had, although I’ll admit, I was only marginally interested in you at first, like a new book or a well-performed song. I hope you don’t take offense but there aren’t many things that… pass time quickly in the Blackstone when one isn’t on the clock.”

“Sounds similar to a sea voyage,” Billy remarks.

“It quite a bit like being at sea,” Goody agrees. “The ground beneath your feet may be stable here but boredom levels tend to be in about the same range from day to day. I prefer the sea but my few times aboard a ship, I’ve usually not spent much time above decks.”

“Seasickness?”

Goody’s face goes still. “No.” 

That’s it. He’s known the man less than a night but he’s already learned Goody well enough to know that he is a man of many words and that he always says more when he could say more when less would do. A one word response does not bode well but he doesn’t suppose it’s his place to push. 

“Shame. Even when it’s dangerous or dull, the view from the planks of a good ship is always beautiful.”

That makes Goody smile. “Those were about thoughts when I saw you. Young Anthony announced your arrival. His mother was one of Mr. Bogue’s girls before her passing and he has the good fortune to know his father. He’s a fine boy with the potential to be a good man. His father tries, he does, but the best he’s managed has been an arrangement with Bogue while he’s at sea. It includes an education and care for Anthony. Unfortunately, that care is provided by the ladies who knew his mother.” He waves a hand around the luxurious room with the kind of distain usually reserved for slaughterhouses and latrines. “Here.” 

“You mentioned him earlier.”

“I did. He’s our runner, Anthony, better than any other other communication system this world has yet devised and when word came down from Bogue that you had made a meeting, well he made sure that we all knew within the hour. Needless to say, there was a reason so many of the girls were strategically placed upon your first entrance.”

Billy remembered that. It had been like walking into a garden but all the flowers had been replaced with the brightly colored dresses of the women Bogue ruled. “I didn’t see you.”

“Of course not. I’m a bit of a special case and I prefer a bird’s eye view. I saw you though, saw you walk in and refuse to remove your hat in deference, saw you take a seat like you owned it without introducing yourself, saw you take down Denali and McCann without wrinkling your vest and then sit back down and order a drink. I could tell you were even very polite to Jenny when you did it. You were magnificent and I thought to myself 'That is not a man to fear. That is a man to befriend.’” He draws a finger across Billy’s chest. He draws a circle around his nipple then through the sparse hair on his chest. “And it seems my assessment was correct.”

“Is that what they’re calling this these days? Friendship?”

“It’s certainly not animosity is it?”

“No, it is not.”

“And anyone who causes Denali and McCann any kind of physical discomfort is a friend of mine, regardless of who he is,” Goody adds on a sigh.

This is the second or third time Goody has said something about Bogue’s men like that, not just as an annoyance or even as adversaries but as men who were deserving of punishment. “Who are they to you?”

“I’d rather not discuss such disgusting men on such a nice evening.”

“They hurt you.”

Goody doesn’t answer right away. When he does, it’s not the simple yes that Billy expects. He sounds resigned and even wistful as he muses, “I’ve been hurt by many people over the course of my lifetime.”

“But are you being hurt here? Are they the ones hurting you?” 

“You make me want to be honest.” The words are fond and accompanied by knuckles brushing Billy’s cheek.

“Are you not honest typically?”

Goody quirks an eyebrow at him. “Mon couteau, I am a whore. What do you think the profession is built on if not pretty lies?”

“I wouldn’t know. You’re my first.”

Goody looks delighted by that. “Well, then, I am honored.”

“You never answered my question.”

“Beautiful, meticulous, a good fuck, and stubborn,” Goody sighs. “Sometimes, they hurt me, cher. And sometimes it is others. And sometimes, no one touches me at all. That is cost of getting through this life alive.”

Billy remembers with vivid clarity the glee on Bogue’s face as he stared down at the head he had delivered. That memory is followed swiftly by the target’s matelot pained scream when he came across Billy taking apart his man at the neck, forcing Billy to execute him too. Bogue didn’t just met out hurt, he savored it and Billy suddenly knew he couldn’t leave Goody here. 

“Come with me.”

Goody laughs his rich, warm laugh. He rubs his cheek against Billy’s shoulder contentedly and asks, “Where are we going?”

Billy hasn’t thought that far ahead, to be honest. “Away from here.”

Goody smiles sadly and shakes his head. “That’s a lovely idea but I’m afraid I cannot.”

Billy waits because there must be a reason. Goody is old for this work and too good for this place. They’ve only known each other a few hours and already Billy knows that. 

“There’d be no point, cher. I’d end up back here in the end. Seems no matter what I do, always end up back where I start.”

“Then why not try? At least you’d have a change of scenery until your supposed inevitable return.”

Goody laughs again. He reaches up and runs fingers through his hair in a way that is somehow both fond and sad. “I shouldn’t be surprised that you turned out to be some sort of knight out of chivalric tales, should I?”

“I don’t know,” Billy admits. “I’m still not sure what all your expectations of me were.” He takes Goody’s hand from his hair and kisses the palm. “Let me take you from here. Run away with me.”

Goody sits up and pulls his hand away, tucking it against his chest. Fear and despair turning his blue-grey eyes shades darker. “If I did I think I would be forced to run forever.”

“Perhaps,” Billy agrees. “But you would be free.”

Goody stares at him for a moment that feels to Billy to stretch on for eternity. Then, time speeds up and he is darting forward, grabbing Billy’s face with both hands and kissing him breathless, groaning a yes into his mouth. Billy savors his agreement as much as he hears it and it is the sweetest flavor his tongue has ever tasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time for notes!  
> 1) The gayageum is a traditional Korean string instrument. It was invented a thousand-five-hundred years ago and is fairly closely related to the Chinese gu-zheng. You know this type of instrument, even if you don't know you know it. Honestly you do. See?  
>   
> There have been 3 iterations of the gayageum over the centuries, but 2 of the 3 didn't happen until after the 1800s so all you need to know is that the kind Billy would be familiar with look like the one in the picture.  
> 2) If you want to hear some gayageum music, check out [Luna Lee](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JOBEHW-ZByM) because she does some super cool covers of modern music on it(and some traditional) that just rock so hard. I linked you directly to her rendition of Everlong by the Foo Fighters because I think it's the best and it made me feel things in relationship to this fic.  
> 3) Blowjobs and pirates - not a thing. No, seriously. I did research on pirate sexual practices and according to _Sodomy and the Pirate Tradition : English Sea Rovers in the Seventeenth-Century Caribbean, Second Edition_ apparently, pirates didn't give or get oral. It was pretty much just the aristocracy that blew people and even then, super rarely. From what I understand, it wasn't a particularly, um, hygienic time and even if it were, there were power issues that made giving head just not cool at the time(cocksucker is an insult for a reason). Hence Billy's reaction. It should also tell you a lot about Goody's, um, situation and history that he was so willing to do it without hesitation. If you want to read about the specifics, here's a link to [a couple chapters from the book](https://www.dropbox.com/s/ajbfvlwqxqf1us3/Pirate%20Sex.zip?dl=0). I'm limited by my library so I can't give you the whole thing but it's a place to start and if you like it, you can always grab a copy for yourself.
> 
> Chapter title from Save Yourself, I'll Hold Them Back by My Chemical Romance


	4. Like It Was Yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Billy sees some old friends after years apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This semester has been hell. I have no idea when I'll be able to update. Sorry guys. But I hope this gives you a little bit of something to hang on to.
> 
> Thank you to MistMaurader, Northisnotup, DecoyOcelot, HazelAthena and everyone else in the M7 fandom chat who has supported me since I became a mess. This is for you. It's not a worthy apology or amends but it's what I have to offer. I love you all so much. Thank you for letting me part of your lives and fandom experience.

Billy does not return to the Blackstone the next day, or the day after. In fact, a fortnight passes before he even considers going back. 

He is not a man to act rashly. He sends a few short missives, with a girl from a different house, one of the few on Hispaniola outside of the Bogue control. When he asks her who she gave the letters to, he had told her to give them to the boy Anthony, she tells him that she handed her letter directly to the courtesan Goodnight himself each time. It eases his troubled mind as he plans, and unfortunately his plans are small unfortunately he realizes that most of them will come to naught.

It has been seventeen days since he laid in Goody’s bed when a familiar and welcome face strolls into the tavern Billy has taken to haunting. He is long and lanky and Vasquez drops onto the bench across from him, tin mug of something dark and strong in his fist. His features are strong and he’s handsome and the bloodlines of the Mexica woman his conquistador forefather dragged screaming back to Spain give him dark skin and hair that seem to shine in the flickering firelight. 

“Billy Rocks, que en el Mundo estas haciendo on this side of the dark continent, cuchillo?” Vasquez asks as he settles into his seat. He clinks his mug against Billy’s empty one and grins his broad white grin, the smile that was only helped by leaving the Spanish Navy as soon has he had the skills to run successfully. “You haven’t been seen in the Atlantic in half a decade. I feel like someone should throw a party, no?”

“Go fuck yourself, pendejo,” Billy says, tired but warm. “I had business.”

“I know your business. ¿Y cuántos cuerpos has dejado ahí?Ten?Twenty-five?Fifty”

Billy holds up two fingers. Vasquez snorts.

“You’re getting old.”

“Happens to the best of us.”

Vasquez hums in agreement then kicks his foot under the table gently. “It’s good to see you, hermano. Been too long.”

Billy nods in agreement. Then, because he can’t not, he asks, “Still on the Warrant?”

Vasquez grinned. “Quartermaster. Horne’s not what he was. Prefers to cook now, and you know he won’t have anyone but his sister as his second. Tabitha’s better at it than I am anyway.”

He casts his eyes up in question and Vasquez’s smile broadens. 

“He’s taken our latest prize to the proper brokers. He’ll be back at the Warrant by tomorrow, like as not.” Vasquez look turns mischievous. “ ¿ Por que? Looking to see if the candle is still lit after so long? Because I can tell you, hermano, he hasn’t had more than a passing fuck since you left us.” 

“It was never like that.”

“So you both say.”

“Because it’s the truth.” Billy rolls his eyes. Vasquez was a romantic, seeing love and hope where there wasn’t any. Billy had found it tiresome when he was on the Warrant. Now, with Goody waiting for him, he finds it oddly reassuring. Fuck, but he has gotten old if he can get so soft so fast.

“If you insist,” he says, still disbelieving.

At that, Billy fixes him with a hard look and says one word. “Faraday.”

Vasquez flinches. “Ho, now.” His gaze skitters away and it tells Billy everything he needs to know. 

The fucking idiots. Ten goddamn years, the two of them had been skirting each other, ducking in and running away only to be drawn inexorably back. Everyone knew it - even them - and he had the gall to press Billy? He shook his head and sighed. “Still?”

“Still. And we shall leave it all there,” Vasquez declares in a voice that brooks no argument. “Now tell me, what are you doing in a Spanish colony? You prefer East India territory and everyone knows it.”

He ended up here the same as he ends up anywhere - washed ashore, took a job, followed it to another. He shrugs and that’s enough for Vasquez.

“I suppose a better question is why you stayed, si?”

Billy nods.

“¿Y? ¿Por que?”

“I found something worth staying for until I can figure out how to take it with me.”

That makes Vasquez down. “That’s not like you.”

Billy chuckles at that. “No.”

“It must be very valuable indeed, what you stay for.”

“Yes.”

Vasquez studies him for a long moment. “If you require assistance, you know that the crew of the Warrant would not hesitate to grant it. Not a man on board does not owe you their life, after La Reina del Mar.”

“I cannot ask for that.”

“No, you can’t. It is being offered freely. You know how Sam would respond if you said that to him.” They both can’t help but smile at that. 

“True.”

“Come with me back to the Warrant, Billy. At the very least say hello to Horne and Ethel and the Marias. It’s been too long since we saw you. They will want to feed you. Let them.”

To his dismay, Billy finds that he cannot turn the man down.

Captain Samuel Chisolm of the pirate ship Warrant is waiting for him on deck, resplendent in black from his fine leather boots to the broad-brimmed hat that is his fashion. Billy gives Vasquez a baleful eye. “Was I announced?”

“Word of your presence on the island traveled,” Sam says, holding out his hand. When Billy clasps it, he is pulled tightly into Sam’s embrace. It is the first time familiar arms have held him in years. He sags into it for a moment longer than he might admit before clasping his friend on the back and pulling back. “When Vasquez disappeared for the evening instead of making his way to the gambling hells with Joshua and Tabby, I assumed that he’d gone looking for you.” He makes an inviting gesture with his pale palm. “Welcome back. The Warrant always has a berth for you, Billy.”

“You look good, Sam.”

“Not as good as you, but then who does?” He shakes his head and smiles. “Come. You wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t much to discuss.”

Billy can’t help the way his lips twitch at that. “You know me too well.”

Sam offers him a glass of the fine whisky he keeps in his cabin and gives them a chance to sprawl comfortably on the opposite ends of Sam’s berth before he even meets Billy’s eyes again. It is a comfort to know that the captain can still read Billy so flawlessly.

“You’re worried,” Sam says after a few steps, proving the point. “Not how I would’ve liked to have found you after all this time.”

“I confess, I find myself in a situation that has me at a loss,” Billy admits. “I find myself in the role of liberator with no idea of how to go about it, despite the desperate need.”

Sam leans back more comfortably against the wall of his cabin and studies him with his dark eyes, brown but with the same fathomless depths as the sea he loves so. It is not discussed but everyone knows the Chisolms were slaves in the British Caribbean, though only a few know on which island he and his sisters were born, from what island they were liberated, and and where their mother is now tucked safely away. 

Sam keeps Warrant in the Atlantic whenever possible so that it’s chances of intercepting ships with slaves as cargo is increased than in the Indian or Pacific. He has made a name for himself as the one captain flying the back who can be trusted to get anyone out of anywhere. He has made a career of escapes, of freedom, and the capture of prizes is more a way to keep the ship on the ocean and his crew fed and clothed than the end goal. 

“What have you found?”

“He’s called Goodnight. He’s one of Bogue’s, installed at the Blackstone.”

Sam’s face doesn’t so much as twitch but his eyes go hard. “Bartholomew Bogue?”

“There’s another?” Billy sighs and has another drink. It’s good stuff, from Ireland like as not as that is Sam’s favorite sort, but it is not strong enough for this conversation. “Suffice to say, Goodnight is not an employee of his own accord.”

“People in that profession rarely are,” Sam agrees. Once again his eyes give him away, flicking ever so briefly to the door of his cabin. If Billy did not know him so well, were not studying his face so closely, and did not know the men and women of the Warrant, he would have missed it. However, he knows Sam is no doubt thinking of Faraday, of Ethel, and of Maria Sofia. 

“No. And he lacks the freedom of movement and trust our friends possessed when in the same position.”

“Ah. That does make things more difficult. Difficult, mind you, but not impossible.” 

Billy smiles at that. “Nothing’s impossible to you, is it, Sam?”

Sam smiles at that, huge and gleaming in the low light of the cabin. He raises his glass in Billy’s direction. “Not yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Notes (get ready to get nerdy about history guys):**  
>  1) As most of you guys probably know, Spanish conquistadors landed on the American continent in the 1400s and proceeded to fuck up everything for the natives in a big way - like, if this happened to us? It was basically be a TEOTAWKI(The End Of The World As We Know It) scenario. Imagine if our cities were destroyed, millions our citizens were murdered or died of plague and entire civilizations were erased off the planet and person Christian in America was forced to convert to a religion never even imagined or be tortured to death. They also pretty much raped and enslaved their way across the continent. Total TEOTAWKI.  
> 2) This behavior, on top of causing a TEOTAWKI for two continents and millions of innocent, also left behind children of mixed European/Mezo-American heritage behind beginning the Latinx ethnicities that exist today and that Vasquez is a part of according to the canon.  
> 3) There most famous instance of conquistadors taking captives back to Spain was, surprise, that puss-oozing blistered bag of dicks, Chris Columbus, who took 500 captives back with him (200 of whom died en route). Queen Isabella made him to send them back because she was against slavery, for all the good that did in the long run. There aren't that many incidents recorded of the Spanish forcibly doing taking captives back to Spain but other Europeans definitely did so I took some creative license for Vasquez.  
> 4) I did it because I needed him to have been in the Spanish Navy. The strong Spanish Naval presence in the Atlantic acted as the main foil for the English and the French is pretty much the main reason piracy reached a golden age in the first place. They were all trying to fuck up each other's shit a lot of pirates came out of the naval forces (the English Navy mainly because they were so freaking evil but the navies in general.)  
> 5) There are lots of different kinds of pirate hats over the centuries. Sam's is a cavalier hat (which picked up popularity in the early/mid1600s) and looks like this.   
>   
> 6) Title from Bulletproof Heart by My Chemical Romance

**Author's Note:**

> When I read Byung-Hun Lee's interview about Billy's past as an indentured servant, I immediately wanted an AU where Goody was the one in forced servitude. However, I couldn't figure out a way to make it happen in the canon time and place. But you know when I could make it work? Pirate times. And bam! This happened.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] You Can Run Away With Me (Any Time You Want)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9642971) by [MistMarauder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistMarauder/pseuds/MistMarauder)




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